


The Most of It

by illascribit



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, High School, Love Triangles, Teen Angst, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-18 21:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illascribit/pseuds/illascribit
Summary: Gwen opened her backpack and took out an index card. At the top, in neat print, was the first goal she'd written two weeks ago:"I want to have a story featured in the school's lit mag before June."Then, a few lines below, the messy scrawl she'd added at 3 A.M last night:"Make new friends."She could have written "Stop hanging out with my ex-boyfriend and my best friend whom I'm secretly in love with, because it's not fair to either of them, oh God I've ruined everything", but she would have run out of space, and the guidance counselor would probably call her in for a follow-up meeting.[Senior year of high school is always complicated].





	1. Chapter 1

_A normal day. That’s all I want. A nice, boring day._

The refrain ran through Kirk’s brain as he rolled out of bed. It repeated on loop as he showered, brushed his teeth, and selected a polo and khakis from his closet. With any luck, the universe would notice and reward his fidelity to routine.

He swept the pile of books on his desk into his bag and headed downstairs, passing by his sisters’ bedroom on the way. From behind the closed door came the mingled sounds of bad pop music and yelling. That was normal enough. Kirk jogged down the last few steps and came into 'the hall of fame'--so dubbed because this was where his parents commemorated their children's achievements. His Science Olympiad trophies shared a glass case with Maya's various spelling bee awards. On the wall hung a certificate noting Chloe's second place finish in the Annual Essex County Junior Beauty Contest.

"One of these things is not like the others," Maya often said.

In the middle of the hallway Kirk halted. The scent of something truly delicious was wafting from the kitchen.

_Oh, no._

He padded across the remaining stretch of carpet and poked his head through the kitchen door. His mother hovered over the stove, humming to herself as she prodded sizzling bacon with a spatula. A stack of French toast and a platter of fluffy scrambled eggs sat on the counter.

Kirk groaned. His mother glanced up at the sound, beaming.

"There he is---the senior."

“Mom, I told you I didn’t want anything special today.” The breakfast was a lot more appetizing than Kirk’s usual fare of a Poptart and a banana. But it was definitely not normal, and he wasn’t going to start the day off on a less than ordinary foot. He glanced at the misshapen ceramic clock that hung over the refrigerator—a creation of Chloe’s from art class. “There’s no time for me to eat all of this, anyway. Gwen’s coming by in a few minutes.”

“I set aside some food for Gwen.” His mother held up a tin-foil bundle. “Poor girl, no one's making breakfast at her house. Sit down and eat til she arrives.” She pointed with her spatula at one of the stools behind the counter.

Defeated, Kirk slid onto a stool. His mother began heaping pancakes on his plate.

“I remember when you and Gwen started walking to school together,” she said with a fond sigh. “Adorable little fourth graders. I used to stand on the front steps and watch you set off together. She had that little Madeline doll backpack. She looked like the doll, it was a little eerie—”

Kirk's mouth was full of eggs, so he couldn't point out that Gwen's hair was longer and darker red than a Madeline doll’s. Not that he would say that, even if he could, because then it would sound like he spent a lot of time thinking about his best friend's hair.

Which would be weird.

"But now you're seventeen," his mother continued, "and about to start your last year of high school. This is it, you know--the year when everything changes. So tell me," she propped her elbows on the counter, cradling her mug of coffee, "are you excited? Nervous?"

“No.”

“Sweetie, it’s okay to have feelings about this. You’ve been at Frith Country Day for twelve years—”

“Thirteen. You’re forgetting the pre-k year.” At school, they called kids like him lifers. Kirk started on his bacon.

“Well, before you know it you’ll leave behind FCD forever. That should stir up some bittersweet emotions.”

She wanted him to feel something, so he cast around for an adjective to offer. “Relieved. I’m relieved. I’m ready to be done with the place and move on. In fact, I wish that I could fast-forward through the next six months and get to the end.” He waved a dismissive hand as he drank his orange juice. “I already know everything that’s going to happen anyway.”

"Is that so?"

“Yup. I'll do Mathletes, Computer Club, and stage crew.” Kirk ticked off his extracurricular activities on his fingers. “I’ll get A’s in every class except English, where the teacher will give me an A- because my thesis statements are too broad. I’ll sit with Gwen and Toby at lunch. There’ll be people who say hi to me in the halls, and the people who pretend I don’t exist.”

His mother looked appalled. Maybe he should have left out the grade predictions, even if he was just quoting past report cards. But then she zeroed in on the wrong point. “Who pretends you don’t exist? Kirk, if you’re being bullied—”

Good grief. What had he done to convince his mother that he was a fragile glass unicorn? “Mom, I’m not being bullied—I’m being ignored. And it’s a good thing.” The rare moments when Hadley Chase-Lubitz or another one of the popular kids remembered who he was—that was when Kirk knew he was having a bad day. “I have friends, and the people I don’t like leave me alone. It’s as good as it gets in high school. I’m really fine.”

“Kirk is not fine,” his sister Maya announced as she swept into the kitchen. She took the stool next to Kirk’s, dropping her copy of Atlas Shrugged onto the counter with a thud. Maya liked to arrive places with impressive books in tow. “Bacon?” she said, sniffing the air. “What’s the occasion?”

“This is the start of your brother’s senior year, sweetie.”

“Huh.” Maya raised her eyebrows. “I thought all this might be for me and Chloe. You know, because this is the start of our freshman year.”

Their mother opened her mouth, then closed it with snap. “Tell me more about Kirk not being fine,” she said, shoveling eggs onto a plate and pushing it across the counter. 

Maya picked up a fork but didn’t dig in, instead cupping her chin with her hand. “He has delusions of grandeur,” she sighed.

This seemed like a good time to chime in. “I don’t,” Kirk said.

“I looked at his college list,” Maya went on as though he hadn’t spoken, “and he seems to think he’s some kind of genius. MIT is _numero uno._”

“Well, that makes sense.” Their mother added a few strips of bacon to Maya’s plate. “He’s spent so much time on campus.”

Kirk had participated in MIT’s Research Science Institute the past two summers. He hoped the bullet point on his résumé would give him a leg up in the admissions process. Maya’s eye roll suggested she was less than convinced. “His other schools are Harvard, Columbia, Johns Hopkins, and Carnegie Mellon. Seriously, Kirk, I’m a freshman and I know that list is a disaster. Haven’t you ever heard of a safety school?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of boundaries? Stop reading through my notebooks.”

“Why doesn't your list have a safety school, Kirk?” his mother said worriedly.

“Carnegie Mellon’s on the list.”

“Yes, but that’s still a rather prestigious—”

“I just think,” Maya said around a mouthful of bacon, “that there should be more geographical diversity in your list. Put some West Coast schools on there. Have you investigated international possibilities? You might not be able to come home for Christmas if you went to University of Calcutta, but somehow we’d make do.”

Kirk glared at her. “You know, it’s hard to take anything you say seriously when you look like Ronald Mcdonald.”

He should have crafted a better comeback, because Maya was impervious to jabs at her new haircut. She patted her orange mop. "Personally, I think I look a bit more like Carrot Top."

“I’m never letting you go to Supercuts alone again,” their mother said sternly. "Really, Maya, what were you thinking? You're far too young to dye your hair. And that color..."

"Well, I'm keeping it," Maya said. "So get used to it."

"I just don't understand. You had such lovely long hair. Is this some kind of identity crisis or..."

Kirk pricked up his ears as he cleared the last of the bacon off his plate. Maybe his mother would now decide that Maya was fragile, and would devote all her energies to psychoanalyzing her.

But Maya dismissed her mother's worries with a shrug. "Nah. I just don't want people to mistake me for the she-demon this year." 

On cue, her twin came into the kitchen. Chloe's sleek blonde ponytail brushed her waist. She was dressed like all the popular girls at FCD—belly-button grazing shirt, leggings, Uggs. She strolled past the breakfast spread without comment and opened the refrigerator. As she bent down, a lacy thong rode up over the waistband of her pants.

"Thar she blows," Maya snickered as Kirk looked away in discomfort.

Chloe turned away from the fridge with a vitamin water in hand. "What are you talking about, freak?"

"Your whale-tail. Are you going to let her walk out of here like that, Mom? Because if I'm too young to dye my hair, then your other fourteen year-old daughter shouldn't be wearing Kardashian lingerie."

Their mother began rinsing pots and pans in the sink. “Maybe you want to go up and change, Chloe?” The faucet and the metal clanking almost drowned out the suggestion. It seemed like she had no idea how to deal with her youngest daughter. Chloe’s transformation into a popular mean girl had been brutal and swift. This time last fall she’d been a shy bookworm, the sweet foil to Maya. Kirk couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Chloe reading.

Puberty, his mother called it. Kirk preferred to imagine a super-villain accident—Chloe tumbling into a vat of chemical goo.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I’m not gonna change, Mom. I’m fine. Anyway,” she checked her phone, “my ride will be here any second.”

“‘Your ride?’” Maya echoed. “We live five blocks away from school. Why do you have a ride?”

“None of your business, freak.”

Kirk saw his mother square her shoulders. “Well, it’s my business.” She dried her hands and marched over to the back door, blocking Chloe’s exit. “Who’s driving you to school, Chloe? As your mother, I need to know.”

“He’s this junior, okay?” Hands clasped together, Chloe went into full wheedling mode. “His name is Mike Parish and he’s super nice and cute and last night we were Facetiming and he said that my house was on his route to school and that he could pick me up and please, Mom, could you just be cool about this?”

“Mike Parish?” Kirk said. “Isn’t he the guy who got tested for gonorrhea last spring?”

Chloe turned on him in a fury. “You are a pimply loser who has never been on a single date, so any opinion you have about this is totally invalid.”

“What Kirk said wasn’t an opinion,” Maya said. “‘Mike Parish is as dumb as a pile of bricks’, now that’s an opinion.”

Chloe tilted her face to the ceiling and groaned. “Can I just get out of here?”

“You need to apologize to your brother, young lady.” Kirk’s mother planted her hands on her hips. 

Chloe’s phone chimed. “That’s him,” she breathed, and threw Kirk a look of false remorse. “I’m really sorry, Kirk. You’re the best.” She hugged her mother, who in her shock seemed to forget that she was supposed to be a barricade. “Thanks so much for saying yes, Mom. I’ll see you later.”

“I never said—” But the back door had already banged shut.

Kirk's mother watched Chloe cut through the garden on her way to the street. “What happened?” she murmured. “Six months ago she was baking cookies on Friday nights.”

Maya stood and cleared her plate. “I keep telling people it’s demonic possession, but no one’s signed on for the exorcism.”

“Are you okay, Kirk?” his mother asked.

“I’m fine.” Kirk slipped his own dish into the dishwasher. As he straightened, he caught his reflection in one of the glass cabinets. The acne scars on his cheeks were deep and angry. “She didn’t say anything that isn’t true.”

“Kirk’s going to find a really nice girl in graduate school,” Maya predicted.

“Haha,” he said sourly as the front door bell rang. “That’s Gwen.” He grabbed his backpack and scooped up the tinfoil bundle from the counter. “I’ll give this to her. Thanks for breakfast, Mom.”

From the twitch of her lips, he could tell that she was poised to say more than a simple goodbye. He braced himself for a last question, a final prodding into his feelings, but she only gave him a faint smile. “Have a great first day, sweetie.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Kirk met Gwen on his front stoop, he handed her the tin-foil bundle. 

"What's this?" 

"Breakfast. Mom cooked French toast this morning. She might have slipped in some bacon, too."

"Mmm, smells good." Gwen unwrapped the tinfoil and inhaled deeply as they walked down Kirk's driveway. "What's the occasion?" 

"First day of senior year. You know, the first page of the last chapter of our youth. I don't know why my mom has to be so weird about things." 

"Trust me." Gwen tore a strip of bacon in half. "There are worse things to be weird about." 

Shit. Kirk wanted to rewind the last ten seconds so that he could say just about anything else. "How, uh, is your mom?" He never found the right tone for the question. Gwen got annoyed if he sounded too concerned. She saw worry as a close cousin of pity. But playing it light and breezy--_"Hey, how's your mom's severe mental illness?"_\--just seemed wrong. So the words always came out in a stilted mumble. 

"Last night it was lead." Gwen looked ahead as she spoke. Her hair was in its usual style: falling in a dark red sheet down her back, pinned from her face with two tortoiseshell combs. Her profile might have been carved from stone. "She read an article about Flint, Michigan online and then got the idea that our water supply was contaminated, too. She printed out a bunch of water quality reports from the Frith town website--she used up all our paper, actually, but that would have been fine, only then she started worrying about our wallpaper. You know, that it had lead in it, too. Luckily Aunt Isabelle and Uncle Cal were staying over, so they stopped her from peeling our living room wall. Later on she couldn't sleep, so that was a whole thing..." She broke off, rubbing her forehead. 

"Oh," Kirk said inadequately. 

"The evening wasn't a total bust." Gwen gave him a small smile--the one he thought of as her best smile. He didn't see it often; the curve of her lips was quick, blink-and-you-miss-it, but it made her sharp-angled face look softer, happier. "Once things quieted down, I shut myself in my room and started a new Zenevia story." 

"Awesome," Kirk said with a grin of his own. Zenevia, the magical canal city Gwen had invented and fleshed out in countless stories, was a far safer and more enjoyable topic. "What happens in this one?"

"Well--" Gwen cleared her throat and clasped her hands together. "Vicious dog-otters are infesting the canals, stealing children off of barges--"

Back in fourth grade, Gwen used to wander alone on the perimeter of Frith Country Day School's playground. Kirk remembered the day he'd first really noticed her. He and his friends had been sitting on the wooden platform at the base of the monkey bars. It was only spot on the playground where they could spread out their Magic the Gathering cards and play. They'd claimed this territory only recently, after the cool kids decided that playground equipment was babyish and drifted off to other pursuits. 

Kirk pulled a Mountain from his deck and was about to lay it down when Toby nudged him. "What's up with her, you think?"

Gwen was passing within a few yards of them. She walked with her hands clasped in front of her, lips moving silently. 

"She does that every recess." Toby squinted at Gwen from beneath his mop of curls. "Just walks around and talks to herself. What's she saying?"

"My mom says hers is crazy," Garrett piped up. He took up more than his share of the platform, sitting with legs akimbo. Kirk caught a pungent whiff from his left sneaker. “It’s probably hereditary."

"Can we just play?" Stan whined. "Kirk, do you have anything else?"

"Yeah, a Lightning Bolt..."

Kirk pulled the second card from his desk at the same time as Toby bellowed, "Hey!"

Gwen's steps faltered. She turned her thin, startled face towards the monkey bars. 

"What are you--" Pink rose in Toby's cheeks. "Why are you talking to yourself?"

A pause--then, "I'm telling myself a story," Gwen said evenly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Garrett snorted. Toby, now crimson, seemed unable to say anything more, and Stan stared at the cards as though hoping he could will everyone's attention back to the game. But Kirk forgot the deck in his hand. He was terrible at making up stories. Dread gripped him whenever their teacher announced a "fun write" and pulled some weird object from her bag--a witch's hat, a stuffed giraffe, a wooden spoon. _"You have ten minutes to write a story about this object. Go!"_ Even the dumb kids in their class got something on paper. But Kirk would sit frozen, his mind blank. 

Gwen, so quiet in the desk next to his, had stories teeming under her bright hair. Wandering around alone at recess was weird--but _normal_ was Hadley Chase-Lubitz and her friends shrieking on the four square court. He didn't want to know them better. 

He wanted to know Gwen. 

"Do you want to watch us play?" he asked her. 

That was the first time he saw that swift, radiant smile. She settled onto the platform between him and Toby. 

Garrett's lip curled, revealing his buck-teeth. "My mom says--"

He yelped as Kirk kicked his outstretched leg. This got a giggle out of Gwen. She stayed between him and Toby for the remainder of that recess--and the next one, and the one after that, until she became a constant at his side. 

"And then the king hears a prophecy that Proteus--you know, sea god, Greek mythology--is going to rise up from the deep and claim Zenevia for his own," Gwen said in the present. "I just need to figure out the ending now. Either Proteus is going to show up, or it turns out that Proteus is controlling the Kraken. Maybe that’s too much, though."

"I say release the Kraken," Kirk said. "Is this going to be the storyline of our next D&D campaign?" Gwen was the established dungeon master of their D&D group, which gathered at Kirk's house about once a month. More often than not, the quests came straight from the pages of her Zenevia stories. 

Gwen's forehead creased. "Maybe," she said in an unreadable tone. "Hey, did you do the college counseling homework?"

Kirk almost tripped over a tree root spreading itself across the sidewalk. "The what?" 

"Torres sent out an email with the assignment two weeks ago. Seniors are supposed to come up with two goals to work towards this year. Neither goal can be directly related to getting into college. We have to turn them into our advisors today." 

"I wasn't checking school email two weeks ago." Indignation welled inside Kirk. "It was summer break! And since when can Torres assign homework? She's a counselor, not a teacher."

"She obviously thinks she's found the cure for senioritis. We'll put down goals in writing, and then she’ll guilt-trip us with them in the spring when we don’t want to do anything."

"When do we have advisory today? Maybe I can B.S something before then." Kirk instinctively patted his pockets, even though he knew all his pens were at the bottom of his backpack. "Wait, what were your goals?"

Gwen pulled a face. "Trying to steal my good ideas?"

"I want to have some idea of what I'm supposed to say. Like, I don't have any goals for this year besides getting into college and leaving. I just want it to be like any other year."

Gwen gazed at him with her lips pressed in a thin line; Kirk began to think he'd said something wrong. Then, with a small shake of her head, she said, "I want one of my stories spotlighted in _The Thrush_." 

"In other words," Kirk said as they approached the intersection where Kirk's street met the town's main road, "you want Andrew Klein to get his head out of his ass." 

Andrew Klein was a fellow senior and the editor-in-chief of _The Thrush_, the school's literary magazine. Kirk had hated Andrew since the other boy's arrival at FCD in third grade. Andrew wore sweater vests, brought gourmet lunches in gleaming Tupperware, and called Kirk's cursive "sub-par." He became more of a know-it-all creep with each passing year. By the time they were freshman Andrew was slicking his hair with copious gel and calling people "old sport." Who read _The Great Gatsby_ and thought, _Yeah, I want to be like that guy? _

"He buries my story at the back," Gwen said. "Every time. The cover is always one of Lucy's drawings, and then there's the spotlight section, where Andrew always puts Naomi's story. You know, the same story she's been writing over and over again for four years, about being a misunderstood theater kid. I'm sick of it. I know I'm a better writer than she is." 

"Well, he is dating Naomi." 

"Not anymore. I heard they broke up over the summer." 

"Huh," Kirk said with vague interest. "I thought those crazy kids were going to make it." If there was one person more profoundly irritating than Andrew, it was Naomi Winters. 

They had reached the intersection now, which was clogged with Monday morning traffic. Hobart Road was the most direct route out of town and towards Boston. Kirk and Gwen waited at the corner as a minivan rolled blithely through the four-way stop, drawing annoyed honks from all sides. 

"Who makes it out of high school?" Gwen's tone had a bitter edge. A green Nissan pulled up to the stop sign after the minivan. Its driver flicked his turn signal and motioned at them to cross. 

Kirk could guess what, or rather whom, Gwen was thinking of. He bit the inside of his cheek and stared at the Nissan’s blinking headlight. He preferred to forget that Gwen had dated his friend Toby for half of last year. 

They walked a few blocks in silence. The houses on Hobart Road, bigger and grander than those in Kirk’s neighborhood, had sweeping, well-tended lawns that separated them from the road. The distance between the houses grew until, at last, the road curved and revealed FCD’s brick main building. The American flag waved jauntily above its slated roof. People were already milling in front of white marble steps, hugging and fist-bumping in salutation.

His mother’s voice echoed in Kirk’s head—_are you nervous?—_and damn it, there was a little flutter in his stomach. He turned to Gwen. “What was your second goal for the year?”

Gwen didn’t answer. Kirk assumed this was because of the school bus that trundled past them, muffling his question. The bus wheezed to a stop in front of the main building. Its doors swung open and released a stream of students.

Kirk recognized Toby’s thatch of springy curls, crowned by his beloved Bose headphones. “That’s Toby’s bus, let’s catch up.” He quickened his pace, but then realized Gwen wasn’t following. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, arms wrapped around her waist. 

“You go on,” she said. “I’ll, um, hang back.” 

An uncomfortable pause. Kirk would rather have had shoots applied under his nails than discuss this particular topic. “I thought things were fine between you two,” he muttered.“Since I got back from Boston we’ve hung out, like, a dozen times.” 

“Yes, but he won’t talk to me or look at me.” Gwen sounded testy. “Remember that game of Risk last weekend? Toby said to Stan, ‘Tell Gwen I’m attacking her in North Africa.’ Things are really _not _fine.” 

Kirk had missed that exchange. He’d been happily winning that game of Risk, ignoring Garrett’s pleas to form an alliance. He glanced at Toby, whose backpacked figure was melding into the throng of students in front of the school. It was still possible to catch up and find him in the crowd. “All right,” he said, “but we’re all going to see each other at lunch, so…”

The annoyance faded from Gwen’s expression. She looked at him with a strange mixture of pity and regret. “I’m not going to sit with you guys at lunch,” she said. “In fact, I don’t think—” She drew a breath. “You should find a new dungeon master. Maybe Stan can do it. And I won’t be at movie nights—or Magic nights—or whatever.” 

That flutter in his stomach had become a leaden weight. Kirk wished he’d been more curious about Toby and Gwen’s breakup. At the time he had simply received the news with quiet relief. Toby had moped around for a week, refusing to talk about what happened; Kirk was just glad he no longer had to hear detailed accounts of hours spent alone in Gwen’s bedroom. 

And he never asked Gwen about any of it, because he didn’t want to hear that she still…well. The point was, he couldn’t tell Gwen that it would all blow over, that she should sit beside him like always. For all he knew it _wouldn’t _blow over, and Toby would keep talking to her through third parties. 

Swallowing, he asked what had to be the least important question. “Where are you going to sit at lunch?”

“I’ll smuggle a sandwich out of the cafeteria and eat in front of the tennis trophies,” Gwen said without hesitation. She’d clearly given the matter some thought. 

It was a bleak picture. But maybe Gwen wouldn’t find it so depressing to sit by herself in the dark corridor off the gym. This was the girl who had once wandered alone at recess, making up stories about a magical canal city. Gwen didn’t need other people around. She would probably get a lot of writing done. 

And if he needed _her_—that just made him pathetic. He couldn’t tell her without sounding like a total weirdo. 

“Okay.” He jerked his thumbs over his shoulders. “I’m just gonna…”

“Don’t worry.” Gwen smiled at him. “We have Chemistry together, right? I’ll see you after lunch.” 

But as Kirk turned away, it struck him that Gwen had been wearing her worst smile—the one that didn’t reach her eyes. 


	3. Chapter 3

Senior year was not off to a great start. 

After first period AB Calculus, which was capped off with a pop quiz on derivatives, Gwen arrived at her advisor’s classroom to find the vice principal standing by the door with a clipboard. 

“I have some unfortunate news,” she said once the rest of Gwen’s advisory was clustered around her. “Ms. Joulkowski is not returning to FCD this year. Since we don’t yet have a replacement for her position, we’ve decided to distribute you all among the other senior advisories.” 

“What happened to Ms. Joulkowski?” Elizabeth Davies squealed. 

“That’s not information I’m willing to share,” the vice principal said in a dampening tone. 

Elizabeth and Nina Rothstein put their heads together to swap speculations. Gwen was more concerned with the identity of her new advisor than the fate of Ms. Joulkowski. She crossed her fingers at her side. _Not Petrelli, not Petrelli…_

“Geoff, you’re going to Ms. Nall’s advisory.” The vice principal read off her clipboard. “Kelly, you’re with Señor Acosta. Elizabeth, Mr. Petrelli….Dwight, Mrs. Mulaney….”

Mrs. Joulkowski’s advisees peeled off one by one, heading to their new destinations. Gwen watched Elizabeth hurry towards Mr. Petrelli’s classroom, where she would join Kirk and Toby. Despite herself, she imagined taking Elizabeth’s place, slipping into the desk next to Kirk’s. _Both advisory and AP Chem together! Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. _

Toby would glare at her, but Kirk would look so _happy_—not wounded and confused, as he had been when they parted. And all of Gwen’s resolutions would be broken before second period. 

“And Gwen, you’ll be with Mr. Fry.” 

Gwen returned to reality with an unpleasant jolt. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“Mr. Fry’s advisory meets in the gym,” the vice principal said firmly. 

She knew _that. _Gwen dragged herself down three flights of stairs, down the hallway where she would be eating lunch later, and into the fluorescent-lighted gym. This was where she’d failed the pull-up test; where she served the volleyball under the net every time; where Hadley Chase-Lubitz once whacked her with a floor hockey stick and hissed, _“You’re an ugly loser nobody likes, and you’re never gonna have a boyfriend.” _

Mr. Fry stood under one of the basketball hoops. He had been Gwen’s gym teacher in seventh and eighth grades; the intervening years had not treated him well. His bald spot had spread, his gut had grown, and the eczema on his arms looked angrier. He snapped his gum and stared at Gwen without recognition. 

“Gwen Wight. I’ve been transferred from Ms. Joulkowski’s advisory.” 

“Right, yeah, they fired her ‘cuz of those tweets.” Mr. Fry pushed his gum to his other cheek and gestured at the free throw line, where his advisees sat in an uneven clump. “Take a seat.” 

“Sit here, Gwen!” Lucy Santelego patted the spot next to her. 

Gwen considered feigning deafness, but given Lucy’s volume and everyone else’s silence, it seemed like a hard sell. She dropped to the floor next to Lucy. 

“So…” Lucy leaned close and lowered her voice. Her sour breath washed over Gwen’s face. “Ms. Joulkowski deleted her tweets, but people grabbed screenshots. Apparently she said she was sick of seeing photos of black students on the FCD website. How messed up is that? No wonder they got rid of her.” 

“She was always super problematic,” Naomi Winters piped up from Lucy’s other side. She shook back her mass of tawny curls. “I took her senior Shakespeare seminar last year—I got special permission, you know, because of all my acting work—and she refused to even _contemplate _a post-colonial reading of _The Tempest.” _

“Actually,” Andrew Klein droned from behind them, “if you look at the whole series of tweets, you’ll see the larger point that Joulkowski was trying to make. She didn’t want the administration to keep using students of color as props while denying them permission to form affinity groups. A position which, by the way, I fully support. But of course the school didn’t want to hear the criticism, and they didn’t want parents writing emails about the racist English teacher. So they fired her. A sad result of attempting nuance on social media.” 

Lucy and Naomi exchanged dark looks and scooted forward, away from Andrew. Lucy twisted around and said loudly to Gwen, “We’re ignoring him because he dumped Naomi!”

Gwen wondered if they planned to maintain their wall of silence during _The Thrush _editorial meetings. Lucy and Naomi probably expected her to slide forward in solidarity, but she was glad to have no one next to her. 

“Okay, enough chit-chat,” Mr. Fry grunted. He consulted the crumpled Post-it where he appeared to have written his lesson plan. “You wrote goals and I’m ’sposed to collect them.”

Gwen opened her backpack and took out an index card. At the top, in neat print, was the first goal she’d written two weeks ago: 

_I want to have a story featured in _The Thrush’s _spotlight before June. _

Then, a few lines below, the messy scrawl she’d added at 3 A.M last night:

_Make new friends._

She could have written _Stop hanging out with my ex-boyfriend and my best friend whom I’m secretly in love with, because it’s not fair to Toby, and I should have never gone out with him, oh God I’ve ruined everything, _but she would have run out of space, and the guidance counselor would probably call her in for a follow-up meeting. 

“Make new friends? That’s an excellent goal,” Andrew said, who was reading her card over her shoulder. “A little ambitious, given that there’s fifty kids in our grade and friendships are pretty well entrenched. There are probably some juniors you’ve never talked to.” 

“I would ask you what your goals are,” Gwen said as she dropped her card into Mr. Fry’s meaty hand, “but I think they’re meant to be private.” 

“Oh, I don’t mind sharing,” Andrew said cheerfully. “I want to organize a Fun Run to raise money for the Model U.N team—the admin are such cheapskates, they won’t send us to the D.C conference unless we self-fund—and I want to teach myself guitar. I’ve found a good YouTube channel already. ‘Course, that’ll have to wait until I finish my Brown application. I’m doing early decision, and I have a good feeling about it. Both my mom and grandfather are alums, and my uncle sits on the board.” 

Because of Ms. Joulkowski’s ineptitude on Twitter, she had to listen to these monologues for an entire year. Gwen comforted herself by imagining how Kirk would react when she reported Andrew’s words. _He was bragging about nepotism? _he would exclaim, his forehead scrunching in that way she found adorable. _Is he for real?_

Of course, she would have to find a moment during chemistry class to tell him about Andrew. Or save it for their walk home.

Mr. Fry had begun explaining the new cell phone policy, which sounded a lot like the old cell phone policy, except that teachers would now confiscate phones from repeat offenders. Gwen expected Andrew to start whispering in her ear about the slippery slope to fascism, but instead he said quietly, “I do like your stories, you know.”

Gwen looked back at him. Andrew had a cleft chin and long-lashed blue eyes. He reminded her of the 50’s teen idols whose posters decorated her Aunt Isabelle’s work studio. If only he too remained still and silent. “Is that why you stick them at the end of every issue?” 

“You’re a good writer, Gwen,” Andrew said earnestly. “It’s just—do you always have to write fantasy?”

“I don’t have to.” Gwen set her teeth. “I want to.” 

“Let’s face it—the spotlight section is the only part of _The_ _Thrush _our peers read. So I try to put something relatable there. Your stories are about mages and sea serpents—they’re interesting, but they’re not going to make some sophomore say, ‘Oh, yeah, I’ve been there.’ If I were you, I’d try writing about something real. Maybe something from your own life.” 

What parts of her life were worthy of Andrew’s spotlight? Her dead father, maybe, or her crazy mother. Or the stupid feelings for Kirk that she couldn’t quash. Gwen wound her backpack’s strap around her fingers and stared blindly ahead. 

“Well.” She sensed Andrew shrug. “Just a suggestion. By the way, if you’re tired of eating lunch with Kirk Shelton and his fellow nerds, you can join me and the rest of the Model UN team.” 

“Thanks,” Gwen said, “but I’d rather have a lobotomy.” 

This comment probably relegated her stories to the back pages forever. Before Gwen could worry about that, an unfamiliar voice interrupted Mr. Fry’s monotone reading of the dress code.

_“_Hi. Is this Mr. Fry’s advisory?” 

A small dark-haired girl stood in the doorway, clutching a messenger bag to her chest. Gwen saw Lucy elbow Naomi in the ribs. 

“Are you Joulkowski’s too?” Mr. Fry asked, squinting at her. 

“Um, no,” the girl said. “I’m new—a new senior. My name’s Olivia Chase.”

Her face was almost absurd in its perfection. Finely arched brows, straight nose, Cupid’s-bow mouth. There was a rosiness in her cheeks that didn’t come from makeup. Gwen had never laid eyes on this girl in her life—she was sure of it—yet that face tugged at her memory. 

“Vice Principal Bova wrote me a note.” Olivia handed a piece of paper to Mr. Fry, who had now taken her full measure and appeared dumbstruck. “It took a while to figure out my schedule—I have a kind of unusual school record—but she told me to go to your advisory.”

“That’s two new advisees.” Mr. Fry scratched his head. “More work, but…” He gave Olivia another once-over and swallowed. “It’s nice to meet you. Welcome. You can, uh, sit anywhere.” 

Olivia seemed oblivious to everyone’s stares. She strolled over to the empty spot next to Gwen and sat down, tucking her legs neatly beneath her. 

Lucy did a 180 degree spin on her bottom. “You’re _the_ Olivia Chase!” she breathed. “From _The Hidden Island!”_

“Yes,” Olivia said with a bashful smile. “I guess I am.” 

“What’s she from?” Naomi asked sharply. 

“Oh my God.” Lucy cupped her cheeks, her eyes wide. “I made a photoset of you just last week. You know, on my Tumblr. Probably it’s too weird for you to look at Tumblr—but if you want to check it out, my username is dreaming-of-harmony.”

“What is this island thing?” Naomi demanded.

“I can’t believe I’m in the same room as—you’ve made out with Rowan Beck! Seriously, I just…I just can’t. That scene in Episode 7 where he just grabs you—he is _so _hot. And he seems nice—is he nice? From all the interviews I’ve read…”

Olivia’s smile had become understandably strained. Naomi had taken matters into her own hands and was Googling on her phone. “_The Hidden Island,” _she read aloud. “Teen dystopian-slash-fantasy drama. Cancelled after two seasons due to low ratings.” She fastened beady eyes on Olivia. “Are you trying out for the fall play?”

“Focus in, guys,” Mr. Fry said loudly. “Now, let’s…damn, that’s the bell. We’ll do the second part of the dress code next time.”

Olivia bolted from the gym. Lucy stayed put, half-heartedly comforting Naomi—_“The show was on the CW, she can’t be that talented”—_but Gwen picked up her bag and hurried out the door. 

Olivia was semi-famous, but she was also a new kid, and new kids didn’t have anywhere to sit in the cafeteria. Here was a blank slate, a person with no preconceptions about Gwen, who wouldn’t eye her with sympathy or ask veiled questions about her home life. Perhaps Gwen could actually make a new friend, rather than sitting next to the trophy case and developing an acquaintance with former FCD tennis champions. 

She pursued Olivia Chase to the third floor hallway, where students were streaming out of classrooms en route to second period. Feeling like a stalker, Gwen called out, “Hey, Olivia, wait up!”

Olivia’s lovely face was wary. “Don’t worry,” Gwen said as she approached. “I’m not a fan of _The Hidden Island.” _

It was a weird, possibly rude opening. This was what happened when you stumbled into a clique of nerdy boys at age nine and never attempted to make another friend: the complete decay of social skills. 

“I’m Gwen—Gwen Wight. We’re in Mr. Fry’s advisory together.” 

“I know.” Olivia’s lip quirked. “We were just sitting next to each other.” 

“Right.” Heat rose in Gwen’s cheeks. “I was wondering whether at lunch later—”

“Hi, Liv,” said a voice which, to Gwen, was much like Pavlov’s bell—it inspired the impulse to hide in the nearest bathroom. Hadley Chase-Lubitz snaked an arm around Olivia’s waist and pulled her in for a hug. They had the same mahogany hair and olive complexion—when they broke apart, a _click _sounded in Gwen’s head. 

“Chase. _Chase-_Lubitz_. _You’re—”

“Cousins.” Hadley’s cherry-glossed mouth turned down at the corners as she studied Gwen. Memories unfurled like a filmstrip in Gwen’s mind. She cringed, though she knew no insult was coming. Hadley hadn’t bullied her since ninth grade. 

“How was your summer, Gwen?” Hadley’s expression had a faintly constipated cast—the effort of being polite to Gwen took its toll. 

“Fine,” Gwen said. “Gotta go, going to be late to History—“

“Wait.” Olivia took a small step away from her cousin. “You wanted to ask me something?” 

Not anymore. Olivia was the luckiest girl to ever arrive at a new school as a senior. She had fame, looks and, thanks to Hadley, V.I.P access to the popular crowd. The notion that she could want anything to do with Gwen was laughable. 

“I forgot,” said Gwen, and walked away. 


	4. Chapter 4

Kirk was standing in the lunch line, watching the hair-netted cafeteria workers ladle yellowish glop onto people’s plates, when Garrett stomped up to him. 

“Have you seen the new girl?”

“Nope,” Kirk replied. 

“You’re not supposed to cut the line,” huffed the junior behind Kirk. 

“I’m not, _jeez.” _Garrett scowled at her, then said to Kirk, “Well, she’s fucking hot.” 

The line moved forward. “Why would they serve mac and cheese on the first day?” Kirk asked as he took a tray off the stack in front of the counter. “They have to know it’s not their strong suit.” 

“Did you hear me? Olivia Chase is out of this world. Seriously, I saw her bending over a water fountain earlier and I wanted to…” Garrett mimed jerking off. 

The junior made a retching noise. “Maybe don’t pretend to masturbate in public,” Kirk said. 

“She’s an actress—you’ve heard that much, right? She was on _The Hidden Island.” _

“I didn’t know they’d made that into a show.” Kirk lifted his tray and received a heap of soggy noodles. “My sister Chloe read the series, back when she used to read. The books were really weird—full of incest. I wonder whether they kept those parts.” 

Garrett didn’t seem interested in the difficulties of adapting _The Hidden Island _to the screen. “There she is,” he announced. Gripping Kirk’s shoulders, he steered him to look towards the milk and juice station. “Go on. What do you think?” 

The girl filling up a glass with orange juice—presumably Olivia—looked very nice from behind. Kirk wasn’t about to say so in front of the sour-faced junior. He opted for a shrug and non-committal grunt, which disgusted Garrett. 

“You were my last hope, man. Toby’s still hung up on Gwen—dunno where she is—and Stan is programming something on his calculator. I’ve got no one to talk to about Olivia.” Garrett heaved a sigh and hitched up his pants. “We’re at a table in the back. See you in a few.” 

He marched off. Caught up in the flurry of his morning classes, Kirk had managed to put Gwen out of his head. He wondered whether he was supposed to tell the others that she wouldn’t be joining them. Maybe they’d just figure it out as the weeks rolled by and she didn’t appear. Frowning, he grabbed an iced tea from the upright cooler and headed to the register, arriving at the same time as Olivia Chase. 

She was quite short. Kirk was used to being roughly the same height as the girls in his grade—Gwen met him at eye level—but the top of Olivia’s dark head just reached his chin. 

“Sorry, I’m new here,” she told the woman behind the register. Her voice was low, almost husky. “I already went through with my food and came back for a drink—do I swipe again?”

“Just give me your card, honey,” the cashier murmured. 

As Olivia handed over her meal card, she turned her head toward Kirk. Rich, warm brown eyes drew him in—Kirk could feel the pull in his stomach.

“Hi,” she said. 

Automatically Kirk looked behind him. No one was there. 

“Uh…”

And then she was gone, walking towards a table where Hadley Chase-Lubitz and most of the lacrosse team sat, and Kirk was left with the cashier, who asked him sharply for his meal card and did not call him _honey. _Once his card was swiped, Kirk set off towards his friends. Their exchange kept ricocheting through his head. _Hi. Uh. Hi. Uh. _He couldn’t have sounded like a bigger moron. 

As he put down his tray, Toby glanced at him. “Why are you all red?”

To avoid answering, Kirk shoved a generous helping of mac and cheese into his mouth and nearly gagged. 

“So,” Toby said, swiveling back to Garrett, “what is _The Hidden Island_ about, anyway?”

“No clue. Kirk says it has incest, so maybe it’s _Game of Thrones _for tween girls.” 

“No.” The mac and cheese was going down the wrong way. Kirk had to pound his chest. “This boat gets shipwrecked in the Bermuda Triangle,” he wheezed, “and ten families wash up on a island. The island is always covered in mist, and there are huge lions and wolves roaming around…”

“So it’s _Lost _for tween girls,” Garrett said. 

“The families build a fortress for themselves, learn to hunt, and develop this weird caste system. They live like that for the next two hundred years. Obviously, to keep things going, the families have to keep intermarrying, which is where the incest comes in.”

Stan, whose head had been bent over his calculator, now looked up. As usual, he’d gotten his lunch from the vending machine: a bag of chips and an energy drink. “Are they mutants?” he asked. 

“Not that I’m aware—”

“Why would they be mutants, Stan?” Garrett’s exasperated groan drowned Kirk’s words. Toby pressed his lips together and raised his gaze to the ceiling. 

“Narrow gene pool.” Stan’s slate-colored eyes had dark circles underneath; Kirk assumed that once again he’d chosen coding over sleeping. “Generations of inbreeding. They should have extra limbs. Or really interesting blood diseases.” 

“They’re all normal,” Kirk said. “At least in the books.” 

“Oh.” Shoulders hunching, Stan returned to his calculator. “Too bad.” 

“Instead of wasting my time with the plot of the show, I did more important research.” Garrett waggled his brows as he took out his phone. “I image-searched ‘_The Hidden Island-_Olivia Chase’ and found _this. _You’re welcome.” 

His screen showed Olivia on a beach. It looked like part of a cast photoshoot. She knelt on the sand, her hair wild in the wind, her gauzy dress riding up her thighs. A shirtless blonde guy with pecs and a pouty lip rested his hand on her shoulder. 

“Ignore him,” Garrett said, covering the blonde guy with his thumb. “She looks smokin’, right?”

She looked better in real life, Kirk thought. Better when she stood close and met his eyes and said _Hi _in that magnificent, throaty voice. 

“Could we not—” His own voice cracked. He leaned back to distance himself from Garrett’s phone. “It feels creepy.” 

“Agreed.” Toby broke his breadstick in half. “She _is_ in the same room as us.” 

“Fine,” Garrett grumbled, and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Y’all are like Ken dolls down there.” 

“I’ll remind you that I’m the only one at this table who’s made out with a girl,” Toby countered. 

Kirk employed a familiar mental trick: filling his head with white static so that he wouldn’t picture Toby and Gwen kissing. 

“Did you walk to school with Gwen?” Toby asked him in a strangely accusatory tone. 

“Uh, yeah.” Kirk twisted the cap off his iced tea—it seemed safer to take a long drink than stuff his face with food. 

“Just wondering.” Toby drummed his fingers on the table. “Haven’t seen her today.” 

In a few gulps, Kirk finished half the tea. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He might as well tell Toby—Gwen hadn’t instructed him to keep it a secret. “She’s not going to sit with us at lunch,” he said, picking at the label on his bottle. “I guess she wants a break from…from us.” 

Toby’s dimpled face hardened. Kirk tried to remember whether his friend had worn this expression while Gwen was around. If so, he really had been dense, thinking things were fine. 

“How long of a break?” Stan demanded, flipping over his calculator. His brow was knitted in distress. 

Kirk hadn’t been aware that Stan and Gwen shared much of a bond. In fact, he would have wagered that Stan could make it all the way to June without noticing Gwen’s absence. Apparently he was wrong. “She didn’t set an end date.” 

“We _need_ Gwen.” Stan slapped the table, making the trays jump. “We need her for our campaign.” 

“Of course you’re thinking about Dungeons and Dragons,” Garrett snorted. Kirk forced himself to laugh, although just that morning he’d fought against telling Gwen he needed her. There had been nothing funny about the feeling. 

Toby didn’t crack a smile. He had torn his breadstick to bits by now; crumbs were scattered across his tray. 

“Gwen’s the best dungeon master,” Stan said, unfazed. “She has all those stories.” He reached across the table and cuffed Toby around the head. 

“Ow! What the hell?”

“This is your fault,” Stan said, settling back in his seat. “You didn’t need to ask Gwen out. Things were fine before.” 

If Kirk ran for office, that would be his slogan. He’d scrawl it across banners, etch it onto campaign buttons, hire skywriters. _Toby did not need to ask Gwen out. Things were fine before. _

“Yeah, well.” Toby rubbed his neck, scowling. “Believe me, I regret it.” 

“She wasn’t worth it, man,” Garrett said bracingly. “Gwen’s moody as hell, and she’s got a long-ass nose. Have you noticed the weird bump on the end?’

It turned out that Garrett had an opinion about every part of Gwen’s anatomy and almost every facet of her personality. He held forth for the next ten minutes. Kirk wanted to interrupt Garrett or hit him, but he couldn’t, not with Toby nodding along and pitching in “Totally” or “She _does _do that” at scattered intervals. The anger ebbed from his face, replaced by satisfaction. 

This was likely some male cathartic ritual that Kirk couldn’t fully understand, never having had a girlfriend. He pictured Gwen’s face if she could hear Garrett’s bile, if she knew he was listening to it in silence. His stomach gave a queasy lurch that had nothing to do with the goopy mac and cheese.

In desperation he reached out and tapped the front of Stan’s calculator. “What are you making on there?” 

Stan drew the TI-89 protectively towards his chest, his eyes still glued on the keys. “A numeric integration program to calculate the area under curves. For BC Calc.” 

“Do you think…” Snatches of the other conversation drifted over. _Didn’t even shave her legs…it was gross. _Kirk forged on. “Do you think Mr. Cutler’s going to let you keep a program like that?”

No reply. Kirk waved his hand in front of Stan’s face several times but still didn’t draw a reaction. He’d had enough. “See you guys later,” he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Are you going to find Gwen?” Toby asked. His lip was curled in a sneer. Kirk must have been wrong about Garrett’s spiel helping him towards catharsis. 

“No,” Kirk lied. “Library. I’ve got a ton of Latin homework—fifty lines of _The_ _Aeneid _by Wednesday.” 

“_Tu aurais dû étudier le français,_” Garrett said in a horrible accent. Both he and Toby cracked up. 

Kirk carried his tray back towards the register. He chose a route that took him past Olivia’s table. He didn’t _want _her to notice him—but if she did, it was a chance to show that he was capable of returning a _hello _like a normal human being. But there was no opportunity to redeem himself. Olivia’s gaze remained fixed on Danny Friedman, the lacrosse team captain. Danny had one arm wrapped around the back of her chair, while with the other he lazily flexed his bicep.

As Kirk scraped his plate into the garbage, he remembered that Danny’s teammates called him by his initials: _D.T.F. _Of course he was showing off his muscles. And Olivia would melt and coo, just like Hadley Chase-Lubitz and the other popular girls. Kirk had seen it happen countless times, and never before had he felt a touch of envy. 

He thrust his tray onto the metal rack and left the cafeteria without looking back. 


	5. Chapter 5

Just ten minutes remained in the lunch period, but the hallways were still deserted. Kirk walked past the locker rooms and athletic offices, then rounded a corner into a dimly lit corridor. Gwen sat in a benched alcove, cross-legged, a binder resting in her lap. Tournament cups glinted in the case above her head. The sound of her pen scratching against paper was the only noise in the quiet hallway. When Kirk drew closer, he spotted half a cellophane-wrapped sandwich by her feet. 

“So, I came up with a couple goals during advisory.” 

With several slow blinks, Gwen returned from whatever world she had been inhabiting. Then she smiled her best smile and patted the space on the bench next to her. “Let’s hear them.”

“First,” Kirk said as he sat down, “I’m finally going to watch the original 1970s’ _Battlestar Galactica _series.”

“Not sure ‘clearing my Netflix queue’ is the kind of goal Ms. Torres had in mind.” 

“Then I said I want to score a 5 on the AP Chemistry exam.”

“Okay.” Gwen was still grinning, as though she simply couldn’t stop, and an answering _thump _came from his chest. “I’m pretty sure I said the goals couldn’t be related to getting into college.”

“Technically, it’s not. We take the AP exams _after_ we hear back from colleges. So I have one goal for my free time, one for school. I think she’ll be impressed with my work-life balance.”

“Like you’ll even have to _try_ for a 5 on the chemistry exam.” Gwen shook her head. “You just spent five weeks at MIT doing stuff I can’t even understand.” 

Kirk thought about explaining his research again, but people’s eyes always glazed over when he got to _coordination polymers. _Instead he said, “Making it to the exam might be the challenge. Chemistry with Mrs. Mahoney is supposed to be the hardest class in school.” 

“It certainly makes a lot of people cry. Remember how all the seniors looked after they came out of her midterm last year?”

“I need a letter of recommendation from Mahoney.” Kirk fiddled with the zipper of his bag. He hadn’t even told his mom he was nervous about this. “You know, because my personal statement talks so much about chemistry. I heard she basically loathes everyone, but I’m hoping she at least tolerates me.” 

“You’d be hard to loathe.” Gwen’s gaze skittered away from his. “How was lunch? What did I miss?”

_Just Garrett and Toby being total assholes about you. _“Not much. The mac and cheese was gross, as usual.” He picked up the remaining half of her wrapped sandwich and turned it over in his hands. “Is this soy nut butter?”

“Yes, and you’re welcome to the second half. It was the easiest thing to smuggle out of the cafeteria, but it cemented my teeth together. Since you’re here,” she swung her legs off the bench, and Kirk noticed the official-looking form lying on top of her binder, “do you know FCD’s phone number?”

“No, why?”

“I’m working on this scholarship application. It’s due October 1st, and I want to get it out of the way before homework starts piling up.” 

“Is it a writing scholarship?” Kirk tilted his head so that he could read the title of the form. “‘Massachusetts Orphans of Veterans—’”

His face grew hot. Gwen’s expression remained calm, although she did move her hand to cover the application form. “It’s kind of weird,” she said, “getting money from the state government because of my dad. And obviously I’m not, like, an _orphan…_but if one of your parents died in service, you can attend a state school tuition-free. No matter where I go, they’ll provide a stipend for living expenses and books. It’s a good deal.” 

“But you don’t want to go to a state school.”

“Plenty of people go to state schools and do just fine, Kirk,” Gwen said, her tone desert-dry. 

He should have stayed in the cafeteria, if all he was going to do here was thrust his foot into his mouth. “That’s not what I—you’ve always talked about going far away.” He shifted restlessly on the bench. “To Oxford, or Cambridge.” 

“Yeah, well.” Gwen set her jaw. “Uncle Cal and Aunt Isabelle are the ones who’d cover my tuition. How can I ask them to support me studying in the UK after they’ve paid for _this_—” she swept out an arm, indicating all of Frith Country Day—“for thirteen years? I can’t. Not when they’ve done so much for me, for my mom. I wouldn’t be able to take care of her on my own.” 

Kirk didn’t know what to say. In moments like these Gwen seemed decades older, weighed down by burdens he couldn’t imagine. How could she stand to be friends with him, a dumb kid who took his parents’ support for granted? Of course, if he told them he was crossing off all the Ivies on his list to save them money, they’d assure him that they could afford any cost, make any sacrifice to give him exactly what he wanted. 

Gwen should have exactly what she wanted. There was nothing wrong with going to UMass—he knew that—but she had been talking about studying in England since they were freshmen. Kirk had always pictured her in one of those libraries with rolling ladders and spiral staircases. Hogwarts, basically. 

Wherever she was, they wouldn’t be together. The realization struck him with full force for the first time. 

“We could both pack lunches,” he blurted. 

Gwen looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?”

“Paper bag lunches, like we had in elementary school. We could bring them here and eat together.” He waved the wrapped sandwich. “You wouldn’t have to resort to soy nut butter.” 

“Oh.” He could have sworn a light leapt in Gwen’s eyes, but she dropped her gaze. “You don’t want to do that, Kirk. You should eat in the cafeteria with the others. I mean, Toby, he’s…” Her lips twisted. “He’s your best friend.” 

Kirk put the sandwich down. He’d thought _she _was—but that made sense. He’d known Toby longer, after all. “Right,” he said, jerking his head in a nod.

“As for Stan and Garrett—” Gwen picked at her binder’s frayed cover. “They’re too emotionally inept to say so, but they’d miss you too.” 

_But I’ll miss _you_. _Kirk curled his nails into his palms to stifle the reply. Just hours ago, stuffing his face with bacon, he’d told his mother he was done with high school, that he was ready to fast-forward to June. But the end of high school meant the end of seeing Gwen every day. The thought of losing even a fragment of their time together sliced deep. Clearly she didn’t feel the same way. 

Gwen stood from the bench as if it had burned her. “Is that the time?” Before Kirk could point that there was no clock anywhere, she was shoving her binder into her bag. “We should get going. I bet Mahoney hands out late slips on the first day.” 

She chattered all the way to the science wing. Her breeziness grated on Kirk; he responded with vague _mmhms _as they wove through the hallways, now packed with passing period traffic. All that had happened in the last hour left a sour taste in his mouth; he didn’t feel much like talking, or listening. But Gwen seemed determined to fill him in on every detail of her morning. 

“I mean, _Fry’s _advisory. Anything would have been better. Now, what with advisory and _Thrush _editorial meetings, most of my days will begin and end with Andrew Klein. It’s the stuff of nightmares.” They stopped to let a herd of nervous freshmen funnel into the biology lab. “Oh, and then when we were going over the dress code, the new girl walked in. Olivia Chase—have you heard about her?”

“…A bit.” 

“Lucy practically asked for her autograph. And Naomi looked ready to murder her. I guess she knows she’s not the star of the drama program anymore. I wonder what they’re gonna do for the fall play—”

“She said hi to me in the cafeteria. Olivia did, I mean.”

He didn’t know what possessed him to say it. They were now outside the chemistry classroom. Gwen cocked her head at him, her hand on the doorknob. “That’s nice,” she said softly.

“I didn’t say it back.” He tried to laugh, to turn it into a casual anecdote, but he could feel himself blushing. “It happened fast and I wasn’t expecting it…and then she was gone.”

Gwen let go of the doorknob. “Hadley’s her cousin,” she said, her tone sharper now. “She was on TV. She’s going to be really popular. Already is.” 

Kirk’s mind flashed to Olivia sitting with Danny Friedman. Then he heard his sister Chloe’s voice, dripping with venom: _You are a pimply loser…_

“I know,” he muttered. Wrenching his gaze from Gwen, he pushed open the door. 


	6. Chapter 6

Of the four lab tables facing the whiteboard, three were fully occupied. Andrew Klein sat alone at the table closest to the door; he waved maniacally as Kirk and Gwen stepped into the classroom. 

“Hey, guys! Did you hear about oxygen’s date with potassium? It went OK!”

“Is God punishing me for something?” Gwen asked out of the corner of her mouth. “Why couldn’t he have taken that astronomy senior seminar?”

Kirk grinned at her, testing the waters; she wrinkled her nose in response. Relieved that the awkwardness outside the door hadn’t lingered, he whispered, “Yeah, that way he could’ve found his way back to his home planet.” 

Thanks to Gwen’s muffled snort, he was still smiling as he took the seat diagonal from Andrew. “Hilarious. Did you Google ‘bad chemistry jokes’ in preparation for AP?”

“Perhaps. But I also did this_.” _Andrew pulled a thick book from his bag and brought it down on the table with a thump_. _Kirk was reminded of his sister Maya. “_Cracking the AP Chemistry Exam. _Can’t go wrong with the ol’ Princeton Review. I spent the summer working through the book with a tutor.”

“Neat,” Kirk said. He glanced towards the front of the room, where Mrs. Mahoney was filling the whiteboard with precise, all-caps script. Stout and stern-faced, she was dressed for deep winter rather than mild fall: she had on a turtleneck and a long jumper dress, adorned with a pattern of frolicking black kittens. A popular joke was that Mrs. Mahoney favored warm clothes because she was cold-blooded. According to another one, she strangled students with her long gray braid if they broke a test tube. 

“Since there’s an odd number in this class, I was thinking the three of us could join forces.” Andrew dangled his finger and drew a triangle in the air. “What do you say?”

Kirk would only agree to be Andrew Klein’s lab partner if Mrs. Mahoney wrapped her braid around his neck and pulled. “I think you should keep your options open,” he said, aware of Gwen squirming on the stool beside him. “This class is full of brilliant minds.”

“Exactly,” Gwen chimed in. She cleared her throat. “You could do better than us—Kirk and I haven’t even opened a test prep book. Anyway, we’re only sitting here by random chance. You don’t want happenstance to determine your grade.”

“‘Happenstance.’” Andrew drew out each syllable, shaking his head. “Gwen, you _are _a writer.” 

The bell rang. Mrs. Mahoney capped her Expo marker and began passing out syllabi with practiced efficiency. When she reached their table, Andrew pushed his Princeton Review book towards her. “Hello, Mrs. Mahoney, I’m Andrew. I just wanted to let you know that I got a head start on the curriculum this summer. My tutor and I made it through Chapter Twelve: Thermodynamics.” 

Mrs. Mahoney studied him coolly through her bifocals. “I don’t permit students to work with a tutor unless I have written justification from their previous teacher. Please review my guidelines for appropriate study resources.” She tapped the corner of her syllabus and Andrew wilted in his seat. 

Mrs. Mahoney was Kirk’s new favorite teacher. He smirked and then jumped as Gwen’s hand landed on his arm. She bent her head close to his. “Tell her about MIT.” 

“What? I’m not gonna—”

“Mrs. Mahoney,” Gwen said loudly, releasing his arm, “my friend Kirk did something cool this summer, too.”

Now the teacher’s gaze drilled into him. Kirk swallowed. “I was at the Research Science Institute during June and July,” he told her. “My focus was synthesizing new coordination polymers that can potentially store hydrogen in fuel cells.” 

“Kirk, as in Kirk Shelton? I’ve heard of you.” Mrs. Mahoney spoke as if only exceptional circumstances would compel her to remember a student’s name. “Mr. Lasky said you were at the top of his physics class last year. Perhaps, after I review the course objectives, you could give us a brief presentation about your research.”

She strode off. Kirk could no longer enjoy the sight of Andrew’s sagging shoulders. “What were you thinking?” he hissed at Gwen. “She expects me to make a speech!_”_

“Obviously I didn’t know she’d suggest that, but this will be something she can put in your letter of recommendation! Can’t you reuse the presentation you made about your research at the institute?”

“It’s not like I have it memorized—”

“If I could have your attention, please.” Mrs. Mahoney faced the class with her arms crossed, more intimidating than any woman in a kitten-patterned jumper should be. “I’m not going to insult your intelligence or waste my own time by going through the syllabus word for word. You all can read, I presume. But there are some important points you should take note of.” 

She paused, and everyone dived for their planners.

“This course will challenge you in ways that your previous science classes did not—that goes for any other APs you might have taken in the department. You should expect at least an hour of homework each night, in addition to the prep work for your labs. As I’ve written on the board here, your first test will be on October 1st, covering the basics of atomic theory—yes_, _come in!” 

Kirk twisted around at the knock. There was that tug again, deep in his stomach, as Olivia Chase walked through the door, a pink slip of paper clutched in her hand. 

“Sorry I’m late. I’m Olivia—”

“That name isn’t on my roster,” Mrs. Mahoney interrupted. “Everyone registered for AP Chemistry is already present.” 

“I’m new this year. I was just talking to the guidance counselor.” Smiling, Olivia handed the slip of paper to Mrs. Mahoney, who inspected it with raised eyebrows. “Originally I was in AP Environmental Science, but I asked to switch to Chem. Ms. Torres said it was fine.” 

Mrs. Mahoney tossed the pink note onto her desk. “Environmental Science to this class is not a lateral move,” she said. “What grade did you earn in your previous chemistry course?” 

Kirk assumed this was the sort of thing that had made Mrs. Mahoney’s previous students cry. But Olivia seemed unfazed, as though discussing her transcript in front of a rapt audience was standard procedure. “I got a B+.”

“And how about math?”

“B+ as well, in PreCalculus.” 

“Those are the minimum standards for this course. Perhaps you’d like to speak with the counselor again.” When Olivia didn’t scuttle for the door, Mrs. Mahoney sighed and thrust a syllabus at her. “Take a seat, and remember in the future that I don’t tolerate tardiness.” 

Olivia carried her bag to the table where Kirk, Gwen and Andrew were sitting. She perched on the empty stool and looked at Kirk—the natural place for her to look, since they were right across from each other. Nothing strange or surprising about it. He ducked his head and pressed the tip of his pen into his notebook. 

Mrs. Mahoney must have continued talking about the upcoming test, but the next thing Kirk heard was, “Now we’re going to hear from a student who had a remarkable opportunity this summer. Mr. Shelton?”

For a few seconds he simply couldn’t move. Then Gwen nudged him, and Kirk realized that he had hooked his feet under the rung of his stool. He disentangled himself and stood, shuffling to the front of the classroom. 

“You could have spoken from your table, but by all means,” Mrs. Mahoney swept out her arm, “the floor is yours.” She settled into the chair behind her desk, and Kirk heard several snickers. 

“So, uh, I did the RSI program this summer, which stands for the Research Science Institute. It’s in Boston—technically Cambridge, I guess, since it’s at MIT. It’s, um, on the Red Line.” What the _fuck _was he saying? Gwen was biting her thumbnail, her eyes round and anxious. And Olivia—she had her chin cupped in her palm as she watched him, and she was really the prettiest girl he had seen in his entire life. 

He shut his eyes and conjured up his research objectives, his results. Then, with a deep breath, he launched in. He could never remember much of what he said, except that there were too many _likes _and some drawn out _uhs. _Nor did he have a sense of how long he spoke—but he must have rambled, for Mrs. Mahoney cut him off with a crisp, “Thank you, Mr. Shelton. You may sit down.”

“You were great,” Gwen whispered as Kirk slid back onto his stool. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself. 

“Seconded,” Andrew chirped. He was back to his cheery, smarmy self—a sure sign that Kirk had blown it. “MIT’s on the Red Line? _Fascinating _stuff.” 

Somehow Kirk resisted the urge to flip him off. Then a low murmur wafted across the table. “Yeah, nice job.” 

Olivia’s hair swung forward in a dark curtain as she wrote in her notebook. Kirk couldn’t see her expression—she didn’t _sound _sarcastic. “Thanks,” he managed. Staring down at the table, he knew his own face wore a stupid grin.


	7. Chapter 7

Class was over. As people slouched towards the door, muttering complaints about the amount of reading Ms. Mahoney had assigned, Olivia braced her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “What’s the deal with lab partners? Are we just supposed to pair up before next class?”

She looked at Kirk as she asked the question, but Gwen answered swiftly. “I think we’re meant to work with whoever is next to us.”

“Now it’s all about happenstance, I see.” Beaming, Andrew held out his hand to Olivia. She sat back and took it—reluctantly, it seemed, or maybe Kirk was just projecting. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself earlier. Andrew Klein. Before we start working together, I have a confession: I only got through the first three episodes of _The Hidden Island._ Don’t get me wrong, your acting was on point, but there are some gaping holes in the show’s premise…”

Gwen caught Kirk’s eye and nodded towards the door. They stood, grabbed their bags, and slipped out of the classroom.

“You kind of threw her under the bus there,” Kirk said once they were in the hall, their backs against the row of rust-red lockers.

“Did you want Andrew as your partner? Or…” Gwen wet her lips, her gaze cutting away from Kirk’s. “Were you hoping to work with Olivia?”

There hadn’t been enough time for the idea to form in his mind. Now he imagined the possibilities: Olivia’s hand grazing his as she lit the Bunsen burner, his shoulder bumping hers as they rinsed beakers together. He shook his head to clear it, and noticed Gwen frowning into space. She was obviously worried about being forced to work with Andrew.

“_We’re_ partners,” he reassured her. “I don’t even know Olivia Chase.” He tacked on the last part as a reminder to himself.

“Right.” The furrow faded from Gwen’s brow. “You know, I’m really sorry for making you tell Mahoney about RSI. I had no idea she would put you on the spot.”

“It’s okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “With any luck she’ll forget that I made an idiot of myself.”

“You didn’t—at least, you weren’t that bad,” she amended as he scoffed. “Seriously, I feel like I’m closer to actually understanding what you did this summer.”

Kirk laughed. Through the glass pane of the classroom door he saw Andrew still holding forth, jabbing his finger into the air for emphasis. Olivia stood with her bag slung over her shoulder, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her eyes locked with Kirk’s.

“I said, ‘what do you have last period?’”

His head jerked, banging against the locker behind him. “Ow.” Wincing, he edged out of Olivia’s line of sight—no need to offer her further proof that he was total spaz. He focused on Gwen, who was frowning again. “I have a free. I’m going to the library to start my Latin homework.”

“Oh,” Gwen said, a touch frostily. She didn’t ask whether he was all right. “I’ve got English.” Sidestepping him, she headed down the hallway.

“I’ll meet you at your locker, then,” Kirk called after her. “To walk home.”

He got a quick half-smile before she rounded the corner. The door of the chemistry lab opened. “If the Bermuda Triangle truly exists and exerts a mystical pull that can sink a cruise ship, there’s no way the island could remain hidden,” Andrew said. “Hordes of scientists and special ops would be descending on it.”

“It’s sci-fi.” Olivia sounded weary, as though she’d given the same answer several times. “You just have to go with it.”

“Yes, but even sci-fi universes have rules! I mean, even a passing explanation of why the island never shows up on radar…too bad Gwen isn’t here, she knows all about world-building. Kirk, you’re a nerd, what do you think?”

“The real problem is all the incest,” Kirk said, and immediately wished he could be sucked through the linoleum floor.

“Well, there’s a hot take. And that’s the bell.” Andrew grimaced at the shrill peal above their heads. “At least Señor Acosta doesn’t care if we’re late. Later, you two.”

He sauntered off. Kirk and Olivia were left in the now almost deserted hallway. Kirk’s throat was tight, but he forced himself to speak. “Sorry. About the, um, incest comment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Olivia said with a careless wave of her hand. “It was kind of icky, how we were all each other’s cousins.”

“I’ve never actually seen the show. But my sister read the books.”

“How old is your sister?”

“She’s fourteen. She and her twin are in ninth grade.”

He’d strung together full sentences without embarrassing himself. He should quit while he was ahead. “Well,” Kirk said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, “I was just going—”

“Could you tell me where the library is?” Olivia interrupted.

“…That’s where I’m going.”

“Perfect.” She smiled at him. Kirk’s head seemed to detach itself from his body and float towards the ceiling.

“I can’t get over how small this school is,” she went on as they fell into step together. “Before I was cast in _The Hidden Island_, I went to a high school in L.A with a thousand kids per grade. Here there are what, fifty?”

“Fifty-six.” What did he usually do with his hands as he walked? Surely they didn’t flop at his sides like this. He tried stuffing them into his pockets—no, that was much worse.

“My cousin Hadley is in our grade. I guess you must know her.”

He knew Hadley well enough to keep a safe distance. She’d never spared Kirk much attention, aside from some nasty jabs about his acne. But back in middle school she had been Gwen’s relentless tormentor. The bullying had stopped abruptly in ninth grade. In the few encounters Kirk had witnessed since then, Hadley was polite, even friendly to Gwen. Gwen had never explained the change to him—she clammed up whenever the subject of Hadley arose.

“Hadley used to tell me about FCD over Skype,” Olivia said, not seeming to notice his lack of response. “And I’d think about how much I wanted to go to a school like that—where I wasn’t one of thirty kids in a class, where teachers could actually get to know me. Now here I am. It’s a little surreal.”

“So your family moved here, then?” They had reached the stairs. Olivia went first, and Kirk told himself to keep his eyes on the back of her head, to not let them slide down to the curve of her ass…but he was already looking, like a gross creep. No better than Garrett.

“Not exactly. My parents are divorced. My dad has always lived in Frith, but I’ve been in L.A all my life with my mom. When The Hidden Island was cancelled, I convinced them to let me finish high school here.”

“What about acting?” It was nosy, but he had to get his mind off the sway of her hips. “There must be fewer opportunities here than in L.A.”

“That was partly the idea.” Olivia faced him, holding onto the banister. Perhaps it was the angle, or a trick of the light, but Kirk thought she looked nervous. “Towards the end, before the show was axed, things got a little crazy on set. I wanted to feel normal again, to _be_ normal.” Her fingers flexed on the railing. “My mom didn’t understand. She’s always been obsessed with my career—it’s weird to use that word, but that’s what she’d call it. If I stayed in L.A she’d hound me to network and audition and polish my demo reel. My dad doesn’t care about any of that stuff. Of course, he barely knows how to talk to me, and we spend most of our days in silence….but it’s better than the alternative. And that was a monologue you definitely didn’t need to hear. Sorry.”

He could have listened to her for hours. The realization was genuinely unsettling. “No, I…” He swallowed. “Are you even going to try out for the fall play?”

“God.” Olivia rolled her eyes. For a second Kirk thought it was over—the strange fever dream in which this girl wanted to linger in a stairwell and talk to him. But then the corners of her mouth lifted. “If I had a nickel for every time someone’s mentioned the play to me today.”

“I take it that’s a ‘no’, then.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” They began climbing the stairs again. “Acting took over my whole life—part of me just wants to give it up. But maybe if I did something low-key, I’d remember why I liked it so much. Are the theater kids here nice?”

At last spring’s cast party for Guys and Dolls, Naomi Winters had screamed at a freshman for stepping on her cue and downed shots until she puked all over Miss Adelaide’s shoes. “Some of them are,” Kirk said.

They had reached the fourth floor landing. On the wall opposite them, next to the library’s double doors, a red-lettered decal urged them to read everyday. Books dangled on wires from the ceiling, facedown with their spines splayed and pages furled. Olivia squinted upwards. “Did an art class make these?”

“No, it was a girl’s senior project last year. She used books that people had thrown out or given to Goodwill.”

“They’re really cool.” Olivia turned around slowly, her face tilted towards the mobiles. “You didn’t sound too enthusiastic just now,” she said. “About the theater kids.”

“Well, I’m on stage crew. Complaining about the actors is, like, sixty percent of what we do.”

Olivia laughed. He hadn’t heard her laugh before—it was warm, sexy sound. It made him dizzy, like he was the one spinning in place. “So, uh, this is the library.” He pushed open the door clumsily, stopping short when he saw Danny Friedman and his friends at one of the tables.

“Liv!” Danny grinned and pulled out the chair next to him in invitation. “I didn’t know you had last period free, too.”

Kirk could stand here and watch Danny flirt with her again, or he could slink off before the lacrosse posse noticed him. It was a no-brainer. “Bye,” he muttered to Olivia, but had only taken a step when her fingers closed around his wrist.

“Hi Danny,” she said with a friendly smile. She turned back to Kirk. “I can’t believe they have bean bag chairs here. Let’s grab them before someone else does.”

She dropped his wrist and walked off. Danny’s mouth hung open. His friends eyed Kirk with open bewilderment. Kirk had no idea what his own face was doing—his skin still tingled from Olivia’s touch. He shrugged at the jocks and headed after Olivia, passing the circulation desk and general stacks. She was in the corner surrounded by reference books, settling into one of the squashy blue bean bag chairs.

“This is so comfortable,” she said with a happy sigh. “My old school had the same furniture they put in prison libraries.”

_Why are you here with me_, Kirk wanted to ask. Instead—“Do you prefer to be called Liv?”

“What? Oh, that’s Hadley’s nickname for me. Some people have been calling me that, but ‘Olivia’s’ fine.”

Kirk sank onto the other bean bag chair. Olivia’s bare knee was mere inches from his. He fumbled in his bag for his copy of the _Aeneid_, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to be able to translate a single line. He stared blindly at the Latin for a few minutes, until he sensed her gaze on him.

Olivia’s index finger held her place in their heavy Chemistry textbook. “Gwen said we’re supposed to be lab partners with the person next to us,” she said. “Is that an official rule?”

Andrew must have really annoyed her. Kirk shook his head. “You can work with anyone in the class,” he said. “Gwen and I are partners because we’re friends, not because we sat next to each other.”

“Oh.” Olivia returned to the textbook, a faint line between her perfect brows. Kirk’s pulse picked up. Had she been hoping that he—that _they_ could be—

“But, uh, why do you ask?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I was gonna suggest that we work together, but if you’ve already paired up…”

When he’d imagined it a half hour ago, she had been more a daydream than a person. Now she’d become real; he knew what it was like to walk and talk with her and sit beside her. He couldn’t pass up the promise of more time with her.

“We haven’t done the first lab yet, so technically I don’t have a partner yet.” Gwen would understand. He’d make her understand, somehow. “So if you want to work together, that would be…that would be cool.”

“Really? Awesome!”

His conscience was bleating Gwen’s name. But then Olivia smiled at him and nudged his knee with hers, and Kirk’s mind went blissfully blank.

* * * * * *

Gwen slammed her locker shut. “How did this happen?”

She had left English class with the beginnings of a migraine. Eyes squinted, head bent to avoid the harsh florescent lights, she’d shuffled through the noisy, crowded hallways to her locker. As she crouched and started slipping books into her bag, she prayed that the nausea stage of her migraine would hold off until she got home.

Then Kirk showed up and told her that Olivia Chase was his new lab partner.

“How?” she repeated, hearing her voice rise shrilly.

“She had last period free, too.” Kirk’s face was sheepish, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. “We started talking and, you know, she just asked me.”

“She asked you.” Gwen had never felt more jealous than during that endless chemistry class, as she watched Kirk watch the new girl. Misery must have triggered her migraine. Hours ago, she’d been stupid enough to think Olivia could be her friend, and now the other girl was responsible for the driving pain in her temple. “And of course you couldn’t say no.” 

“Well, she’s new.” The skin above Kirk’s collar flushed. “She doesn’t know anyone. I was trying to be nice—”

“Oh, yeah, the TV star is going to have _so_ much trouble making friends. Just be honest, all right?” She was flinging her feelings into the open, dropping every bit of restraint, but Gwen couldn’t seem to stop herself. “You think she’s hot.”

“What?” He spluttered. “I don’t—”

“And she thinks she’ll get an easy A. You get up in front of everyone, give your whole ‘I’m a prodigy’ spiel, and then next period she’s all over you. It’s so transparent.”

“Oh.” Kirk rocked back on his heels, staring at her as though truly seeing her for the first time. “Okay. So the only reason a girl would want to hang out with me is to raise her G.P.A.”

“That’s not…” The throbbing in her skull made it hard to think. Gwen shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Didn’t know you thought I was such a loser.”

Her eyes snapped open. Kirk’s jaw was twitching. “No.” She stretched out her hand—as a rule she avoided touching him, afraid of giving herself away, but that fear was unimportant now. “Kirk, that’s the opposite of how I feel.”

But he stepped out of her reach, now looking everywhere but at her. “Toby texted me earlier, actually. I’m gonna hang at his house.”

“Kirk, wait—”

But he was already gone, moving through the mass of students, leaving Gwen alone and sick at heart.


	8. Chapter 8

When life really sucked, Gwen could always escape to Zenevia. 

That used to be true, at least. Now when she opened her computer and attempted to write, the blinking cursor mocked her. One evening she tried writing by hand—once the dishes were done and she had watched her mother take her meds, she pulled an old composition book from beneath her bed and curled up on the lumpy, faded armchair in the corner of her room. Pressing her pen to the page, she waited for her city to roll out in her imagination, vivid as ever. But her mind was barren. 

In the past, when writer’s block struck, she could confide in Kirk. But that no longer seemed like an option. 

The morning after their fight, Mrs. Shelton had opened her front door with a puzzled, apologetic smile. “Hi Gwen, I’m afraid you’ve missed Kirk. He left about ten minutes ago. Said he had to be at school early to work on a group project.” 

“Oh.” Gwen backed away from the stoop. “Right…the project. He mentioned it to me.” 

“I told him it seemed strange, having such an early meeting on the second day of school.” 

“Senior year’s a crazy time.” Gwen aimed for a casual shrug. Then she waved so energetically that Kirk’s mother cocked her head in concern. She left before she could embarrass herself further. 

All right, so Kirk didn’t want to walk to school with her. She refused to scratch at his door each morning like a lovelorn puppy. Gwen knew that she had hurt him, that she needed to apologize. But she drew a blank on the right words. She couldn’t grovel, nor could she admit the full truth: _I thought you were oblivious to girls. I thought that even if we never dated I’d at least have you to myself, but then you fall for the new girl in one frickin’ free period. _

Besides, opportunities to speak to Kirk alone were scarce. Gwen didn’t want to approach him when he was flanked by Toby and Garrett. Every other moment he seemed to spend with Olivia Chase, and the mere sight of them together made Gwen queasy.

At the end of the second week of school, when Gwen still hadn’t managed to write a word, she spotted Kirk drinking from the water fountain, Toby at his side. _Lesser of two evils, _she thought, and walked briskly towards them. 

“Kirk, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Toby had been slouched against the wall, scrolling through his phone. Now he went rigid. Gwen fixed her gaze on Kirk, who drew his sleeve across his mouth. “All right,” he said slowly. 

“Toby, do you mind?”

“‘Course not,” her ex-boyfriend snarled, and slapped his palm against the door of the boys’ bathroom, disappearing inside. 

“So,” Kirk’s lips formed a grim line, “you decided to stop ignoring me.” 

Her jaw slackened. “That’s rich. How’s your ‘group project’ going?”

“Okay.” He looked down at his feet, shuffling them a bit. “That first morning after we…I didn’t feel like talking. So I went into school early. But then you didn’t stop by my house again.” 

“Well, I got the message,” Gwen said stiffly. 

“And you haven’t looked at me in a week.” 

That was just plain false. Gwen _wished _she could go a week without looking at Kirk, without instinctively searching for him in the halls, without hoping he’d be around the next corner. Sure, she avoided looking at him and Olivia during chemistry class. Some days Gwen imagined that an impenetrable wall separated them; on others, she pretended that they were a pair of evil mages who would curse her blind if she glanced across the table. 

Reasonable coping strategies, if you asked her. 

“I’m sorry how I reacted, when you told me about Olivia.” With any luck, he wouldn’t notice how the other girl’s name stuck in her throat. “She is new, so it’s good that she’s working with someone nice.”

“Nice,” Kirk repeated flatly. He met her gaze, colored, and glanced away. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry too, I guess.” 

Gwen waited, but apparently that was all he had to say. What had she expected—a groveling apology? Kirkdown on his knees? No, but she had hoped for a sign that he regretted ditching her for a girl he barely knew. Given the chance, he’d clearly do it again. 

She could deal with loving Kirk in secret, without hope. She was used to it, she’d had the practice. But the revelation that their friendship was cheap and disposable to him—it cut deep. 

“We’re good, then.” They were very far from good. “I’ll see you in class later, Kirk.” 

“I…yeah.” Kirk’s pocket chimed. He pulled out his phone and Gwen wondered whether Olivia was messaging him. No, she wasn’t this type of girl—she _refused _to be this type of girl. She fished her own phone from her bag and poked at the screen, ignoring him even as his gaze returned to her. 

“So.” Kirk sounded expectant. She _hmm-ed _and kept pecking away, as though she was writing the great American novel of texts. “See you in Chemistry.” 

“That’s what I said.” She tossed her head, but then remembered that her hair was dull and limp, not like Olivia Chase’s glorious, swishing locks.

Only when Kirk’s footsteps had faded did she put away her phone. She took long, desperate gulps from the water fountain, trying hard not to think.

Toby came out of the bathroom. He stopped short at the sight of her. “Did you two have a nice chat?” he asked, scowling. 

Gwen straightened and stepped back from the fountain. She should just walk away. Talking to Toby now, right after Kirk, was the emotional equivalent of thrusting her hand into a wood chipper. Out of some awful, perverse desire to feel as bad as possible, she stayed put. “No,” she replied, “we didn’t. Which should make you happy.” 

“I don’t care, Gwen. I don’t care about anything you do. At all.” Toby viciously chopped the air as he spoke. Then he dragged his hand through his hair. “Goddamn it. Why did you have to tell me?”

She swallowed. “Because you asked.” 

“That is so—” Still gripping his curls, Toby shot her a blistering look. “There’s such a thing as a white lie. You broke up with me—on my _birthday_, thanks again for that, by the way—and then when I asked you if you liked my best friend, you said yes.”

Dumping him on his birthday was indefensible. For the rest, she had only a feeble excuse. “I thought your question meant you already knew, so there was no point in denying—”

“No shit, I knew.” Anger made Toby restless; he was walking small figure eights in front of her. “All those years of you looking at him—but then I asked you out and you said yes, and I thought that you had gotten over him. That you had picked me.” He stopped pacing, facing the wall, and drew an unsteady breath. “I wish you’d lied. Because I really fucking liked you, and I can’t get over this.” 

Gwen swiped at her cheeks, relieved that he wasn’t looking at her. “I’m sorry, Toby. I thought it would make things better if I wasn’t around as much. If I stopped sitting with you guys at lunch.”

Toby scoffed. “It hasn’t helped a whole lot so far.” 

“Right.” Gwen bit back a second _I’m sorry. _She was full of apologies today, and not one had fixed a single thing. “Have a nice senior year—or a nice life, I guess.” She brushed past him, but then hesitated. She couldn’t resist asking the question that had burned in her mind for months. 

“You say you can’t get over it,” she said, turning towards Toby again. “But you’re still able to be friends with Kirk. Why?”

Toby gave her a sour smile. “Because,” he said crudely, maliciously, “he doesn’t even know you have a vagina.”


	9. Chapter 9

**“**Stan has a _girlfriend_.”

Garrett hissed the news into Kirk’s ear as they stood together in the lunch line. It was burger day. Kirk held out his tray and received a gray hockey puck on a damp bun, with a side of straggly fries and some suspect spinach. 

“You say _girlfriend,_” he said, “but is this like the time he ‘dated’ that night elf he met on a WoW forum? Something Starblower?”

Garrett thrust his own lunch tray forward. “Just fries,” he told the cafeteria worker. “More…more…that’s good. No, this isn’t a World of Warcraft thing. Stan is going out with our very own real life troll. Lucy Santelego.” 

Kirk absorbed this as he took a Snapple from the drinks cooler. He’d never even seen Stan talk to Lucy. His own impression of Lucy—that she was pushy and obnoxious—came from Gwen’s blow-by-blow accounts of her lit mag meetings. 

And now he was thinking about Gwen again. There was an endless back-and-forth in his head, which their conversation that morning had done little to resolve. He had screwed up on the first day of school, no question. But did she really have cause to be so angry? It wasn’t like they had sworn a blood oath to work together in every class. And yes, she had apologized, and called him _nice, _but he couldn’t forget her sneer when he first told her about Olivia. _She thinks she’ll get an easy A._

Kirk wasn’t sure why those words hurt so much—why, after two weeks, they were still seared on his brain. Maybe it was because, until that moment, he had never felt ugly in front of Gwen. He was so comfortable talking to her, _being _with her, that he forgot about his acne, his mousy hair, and a hundred other harsh truths that his mirror told him. But he could never enjoy that illusion again, that Gwen somehow saw him with different eyes. 

“Hello? Are you listening?” Garrett thwacked his arm, and Kirk realized that he had been staring at his Snapple bottle like it could unlock the mysteries of the universe. “We have to get our shit together.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Toby and Stan, they’ve both gotten some. I mean, I might be jumping the gun with Stan—who knows if he has a functioning dick. But I know Toby got a BJ from Gwen—”

“Stop,” Kirk said, a knee-jerk reaction. Fortunately Garrett didn't notice. 

“We’re on track to graduate sad virgins. Forget those lame goals that fucking Torres made us write—we should be trying to hook up with girls. Which brings me to my main point.” Garrett’s hand landed on Kirk’s arm again, lingering this time. His broad face assumed a look of concern. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do. Really, I admire your balls. But you’re never gonna get with Olivia Chase.” 

Kirk shook off his grip and marched over to the register, Garrett following close behind. Only after they had collected ketchup packets from the utensil bar and sat down at an empty table did he reply through clenched teeth. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.” 

“Come on.” Garrett squirted ketchup onto his mound of fries. “You’ve snuck into the friend zone—again, congrats. But you’ve gotta be realistic. I mean, look,” he pointed over Kirk’s shoulder, “she’s sitting with Danny Friedman, and he’s all over her. I bet they’re already hooking up.”

Kirk resisted the urge to turn his head. He bit into his burger and chewed the gristly meat. Just yesterday, during their free period, Olivia had pulled her hair out of her ponytail, letting it fall loose in a sweet-smelling cloud. _“I get so bored, listening to Danny and his friends recap their last lacrosse game,” _she’d sighed, tapping her pen against her lips. _“But Hadley always wants to sit with them, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.” _

He had no intention of sharing this exchange with Garrett. He didn’t want Garrett putting his grimy paws on this _thing _with Olivia, whatever it was. She seemed content to spend every free period with him in the library, in those squashy bean bag chairs he was coming to consider _theirs. _She’d even typed his number in her phone, and had taken to texting him funny animals GIFs. It was baffling, exhilarating. 

It was the lone bright spot of senior year, ever since he and Gwen had fallen out. 

“I’m not in a ‘zone,’” he told Garrett tightly. “We’re really just friends.”

“Okay, then.” Garrett folded his arms, squinting at him. “Answer me this, then. No flinching, no _blinking, _‘cause I’ll know you’re lying. Have you jerked off to her in the last week?”

“No.” 

Garrett leaned forward, pushing his chair back, bringing his face close to Kirk’s. _“Have you?”_

“No,” Kirk repeated firmly. 

It was a flat-out lie. But by now Kirk had learned to compartmentalize. At school, Olivia was just his new friend. What he did later in the darkness of his room, thinking of her hair and her scent and that pen against her lips—he could lock it away in the depths of his brain.

He also had enough of a poker face to fool Garrett, who returned to his fries with a disgruntled snort. Before he could needle Kirk further, chairs scraped back on either side of them. Toby and Stan had arrived.


	10. Chapter 10

Toby and Stan weren’t alone. Lucy Santelego laid her tray next to Stan’s and threaded her arm through his as soon as she sat down. Squeezing his bony elbow, she beamed around the table.

“_So_…” She drew out the syllable. “I don’t know if you guys heard, but Constantine and I made it official.” 

“‘_Constantine_?’” Kirk and Garrett chorused. Toby scowled at his plate in silence. 

  
  


“That’s my name,” Stan said placidly, popping open his Red Bull with his free hand. 

  
  


“Literally no one calls him that. Not even his mom.” 

  
  


“I’d hope not. I don’t want to remind him of his mother! Is _that_ all your lunch?” Lucy shook her head as Stan drew a bag of Doritos from his backpack. “No, you need a vegetable. Have some of my spinach.” 

  
  


Stan obediently scooped up a forkful from her plate. Garrett gagged. 

  
  


“I told Naomi to sit with us,” Lucy continued. “She’s at the salad bar now.” 

  
  


Garrett banged his forehead against the table_. _Kirk looked down at his tray—if he ate fast, he could be gone in five minutes. He began shoveling fries into his mouth.

  
  


Lucy frowned. “Is there a problem?”

  
  


“The problem,” Toby spoke for the first time, “is that Naomi’s the worst.” 

“Fuckin’ nightmare,” Garrett said to the table. 

“You just got here," Toby went on. "What makes you think you can invite people to sit with us?”

Lucy glared at him, then rounded on Stan. "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

"Um..." Stan's eyes darted back and forth. He'd never looked more like a trapped rodent. "There's, uh, this email I need to send, just a sec..." He pulled out his phone and melted into the screen.

"There's plenty of room at this table," Lucy said, swiveling back to Toby. "Especially with Gwen gone, now that she dumped your ass."

Toby’s head jerked back. His gaze locked with Kirk’s. “Whatever,” he bit out, his lip curling.

An uncomfortable silence fell. Kirk heard faint, tinny music. He glanced over at Stan, who wore a familiar, glazed expression as he poked at his phone. Definitely playing Minecraft.

Naomi arrived with a dramatic sigh, sinking into the empty chair next to Lucy. She wound a corkscrew curl around her finger and stabbed a tomato in her salad. “It’s official,” she said. “We’re doing another play by an old dead white guy.”

“Ugh.” Still clinging to Stan, Lucy looped her other arm around Naomi's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "This school is so embarrassing sometimes.They should force Silverman to retire." Harry Silverman had been FCD's drama director since the late seventies.

"He's obsessed with the freakin' canon. _Our Town. Twelfth Night. The Importance of Being Earnest__." _Naomi rattled off past productions with an angry wave of her fork. "I've begged for something by Sarah Ruhl or Lynn Nottage, but Silverman refuses to listen. I even left my copy of _The Clean House _on his desk. I would _kill _to do one of Matilde’s monologues.”

“How do you know what the fall play is?” Garrett demanded. “The first rehearsal isn’t til Monday.”

“Well—" Naomi sat up straighter, exuding smugness. “I guess if you’ve been the lead three years in a row, you find out things before everyone else.” 

  
  


  
"Oh yeah, we're super jealous of how tight you are with Silverman," Toby muttered. "Creepy old bastard."

  
  


Kirk had wolfed down most of his food by now. Though still keen to escape, he was curious despite himself. "What _is _the play, anyway?" he asked Naomi.

  
  


"_Cyrano de Bergerac,_" she replied._ "_So, three hours' worth of man pain."

  
  


"Hey, Kirk."

  
  


His head snapped in the direction of Olivia's voice. She stood a few feet from their table. Neither Danny nor Hadley were anywhere in sight. She smiled at him as easily as she did when they faced each other in the library bean bag chairs. In his periphery Kirk saw Garrett grab Toby's arm and mouth something.

  
  


"Hi," he managed.

  
  


"I wanted to ask--" Olivia began, but Lucy drowned her out, practically bouncing in her seat. "Olivia! Hi! Come sit with us."

  
  


"It's like you _own _the table," Toby said, but Kirk barely heard him. Olivia sat down next to him, her knee brushing against his, and the door behind which he kept after-dark Olivia thoughts creaked open. Garrett smirked at him.

  
  


"Olivia's in our advisory," Lucy said proudly, like she was announcing a lottery win. "Mine and Naomi's."

  
  


"That's right," Olivia said, nodding. "Hi, Naomi."

  
  


Naomi's only response was a grunt. She bent her head over her salad, brow furrowed.

  
  


"But I don't think I've met anyone else here. Besides Kirk, obviously."

  
  


"We know who you are," Stan said, putting his phone face down on the table. "You're from the island incest thing."

  
  


Kirk's face burned. But Olivia gave a light laugh. "That sounds like I competed in the world's worst reality show."

  
  


"Garrett showed us a picture of you on the first day of school."

  
  


"What—I did _not_," Garrett said loudly. "You're crazy, man."

  
  


"My question is--" Stan wrested his arm from a startled Lucy and leaned forward--"why weren't you all deformed? I haven't seen the show, but it seems like at least one of you should have had a third leg."

  
  


"That is actually a good point," Olivia said. Kirk couldn't believe how collected she was. Maybe Comic Con had taught her how to handle morons. "I think the network might have been afraid of alienating our target demographic."

  
  


Stan appeared to ponder this for a moment. "Netflix should've picked you guys up," he said, shrugging and returning to his phone.

  
  


"You wanted to ask me something?" Kirk said.

  
  


"Oh, yes." Olivia tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "How do I join the stage crew?"

  
  


Kirk blinked at her. "You want to do crew?" he asked, just as Naomi dropped her fork with a clatter.

  
  


"Wait." Her expression was hopeful, incredulous. "You're _not_ going to audition for the play?"

  
  


"I thought about it. But," Olivia's shoulders lifted and fell, "I just need to take a break from acting."

  
  


"Are you sure?" Lucy asked. She clasped her hands together. "Because you are _so _talented, Olivia. It would be amazing to see you up on stage—ow!"

  
  


Naomi's arm had shot out, whacking Lucy across the chest. "If Olivia doesn't want to act, we shouldn't pressure her." She was glowing with relief. "This is good. I was worried—well, not that worried, since you're new, and it would have been frankly _ridiculous _if you were cast as the lead, but now it's not even an issue! Now we can be friends."

  
  


Olivia's gaze slid to Kirk. Her lips twitched. He had the thrilling sense that she was promising to laugh about this with him later. "I'm glad," she said.

  
  


"Ooh." Naomi turned to Lucy, who was rubbing her sternum and wincing. "We should interview her for the vlog!"

  
  


"They have a vlog?" Olivia said into Kirk's ear. He tried not to shiver at her breath against his skin. He must not have been too successful, because across the table Garrett's leer widened.

  
  


"Welcome to stage crew." He reached over, picked up Olivia's hand, and shook it. "Toby and I do the lights."

  
  


"Hi," Toby said, without much enthusiasm. His mouth had an odd, bitter twist as he looked from Kirk to Olivia and back again.

  
  


"Y'know...if stage-lighting is something you're interested in, we could definitely teach you."

  
  


"Thanks," Olivia said, "but I'd rather learn how to build a set. Kirk's made it sound like so much fun."

  
  


"Oh, yeah." Garrett's tone dripped with insinuation. "I bet Kirk laid it on real thick."

  
  


Kirk kicked him under the table.


End file.
